


one day we'll get nostalgic for disaster

by tarquin



Category: The Creatures (Youtube RPF)
Genre: Creature OT6, Creature OT8, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3814339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarquin/pseuds/tarquin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in the life of Jordan Mathewson and his five boyfriends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one day we'll get nostalgic for disaster

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't exactly intended to be written for the summer 2013 era but it sort of ended up that way. Also I took a lot of liberties with the house, so, there's that.
> 
> Consider this a proof of concept more than a fully-fledged fic, just to get the dynamics down so the setting can be expanded upon later. For now just enjoy your Creatures Slice of Life Anime.

Waking up alone these days is a strangely uncomfortable thing.

Jordan snuffles, realizing all too quickly that the comforter currently resting on his shoulders is not stretched out the length of three people. Instead, he finds as he lifts his head up a couple inches from a pillow that isn’t his, that it’s laying flat only on himself. He huffs into the mattress from where he lies in the middle of a large bed in a small room. (Also not his own.)

Slowly, tepidly, he reaches out his fingers until they brush the farthest edge of the mattress, or at least the point where no person could be sleeping comfortably. Moreover, as it’s James he’s reaching for, he knows that his friend should be no more than a few inches away. Usually he’s entirely too close with his back resting on Jordan’s chest.

So that’s one occupant unaccounted for.

In a similar way Jordan kicks out a leg behind him. The other end of the bed is much closer, and also confirms that the person who had spent the night koala-hugging his spine, Eddie, is also AWOL.

Sharply Jordan draws in a breath, his earlier intentions of ignoring the morning sun and sleeping in until lunch now dashed. He guesses he could try and fall back asleep, or heck, even navigate around the house and find a bed that is still occupied, but now his mind is up and ticking.

Where did they get off to?

And no sooner does Jordan offer that question to the universe then does the smoke alarm go off downstairs. Accompanying it, and challenging it in terms of volume, is James’ voice. While the shrill little siren goes off in increments of three, Jordan can just hear James’ own crowing echoing off the walls downstairs.

“What the hell? Really?”

So now the morning is decided.

Jordan yawns, picking himself up the rest of the way and shimmying out of the fat blue blankets that marks this place as James’ bed. The mattress under him, layered in thick memory foam, does much the same as it’s the only bed in the house taylor-made for the single one of them with back issues.

Still, it’s gotten far more use than some of the other beds in the house combined, what with how the shock-absorption keeps the squeaks to a minimal, and also with how James rarely goes to bed these days without company.

But honestly, the same could be said for the rest of the house’s six occupants. At least it’s an even number.

Jordan steps around a pile of discarded clothes on the floor that he knows will be the first of many he’ll see today. Technically laundry day is tomorrow, Sunday, and the responsibility should fall on Eddie’s shoulders to get the six separate hampers placed about the house emptied into the wash. But between Eddie’s distain for anything more time-consuming than throwing a wadded up pair of boxers near the hamper, and the entire house’s mutual penchant for wearing the same shirt two to three days at a time if they can get away with it, (Seamus and his duplicates notwithstanding,) Jordan knows laundry day will probably end up being another house-wide event that will leave some people gagging, some in tears, some threatening to never return to this den of filth.

The alarm’s still going off downstairs.

Joining the calamity of James’ shouts is Eddie, not surprising at all. Out of all of them he’s the one most attracted to chaos, like moths to light. And in a fashion similar to the way the moth escapes trouble with its wings singed, Eddie’s yips indicate that he maybe got too invested in goings on, and probably didn’t help things out.

“I’m com,” Jordan sighs, not bothering to speak above a raspy sigh as a yawn takes him. There are three pairs of nearly-identical looking jeans strewn out on the pile below him, and Jordan grabs the ones that look most like his own, or maybe James’. (He’s tried to wriggle into Aleks’ jeans once before, it didn’t go well.)

He also heads to the closet on the opposite end of the room and swings the door open, grabbing the first relatively comfortable looking shirt he sees. At one point he thinks this belonged to... Seamus? Himself? He honestly can’t remember. But it’s been through so many wash cycles and yanked from so many different closets that by now it’s the house that owns it. And at this point the same can be said for any piece of clothing that can fit another person. (Dan has since estimated that at least one of his shirts is in every closet in the house. Jordan doesn’t doubt him.)

Once dressed, Jordan wobbles on sleep-heavy legs out the door and towards the staircase near the front of the house. Joining the cacophony downstairs now are at least two separate excited barks, Chef and Mishka if Jordan were to guess. Ein no doubt is parked in her usual place outside of Seamus’ room, waiting for a whiff of Meowgi to pass by her nose.

“Hey, Jordan.” A voice says, and as he turns he sees Dan stepping out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam and body-wash scent following him. Mentally, Jordan flinches. Unlike the majority of the house, Dan prefers showering alone when he can, which is a feat usually only accomplished after everyone else is done. This probably means Jordan is the last up, which means that a long wait for the water heater probably awaits him and his unwashed hair.

“Hey.” He replies with a nod, bumping the shorter boy’s shoulder as he passes.

“You have any idea what’s going on down there?” Dan asks, a little honest worry tinting his voice.

“Not yet.” Jordan replies. “Sounds like a good time though.”

Instantly, Dan picks up on his sleepy smile and gives him a kinder one in return.

“I can go down there and try and sort things out if you want.” He says. “You can go back to bed, I’ll wake you for CT.”

Jordan Matthewson could not honestly be more grateful for Daniel Gidlow. It’s kind of a running joke between all of them, how Dan is the closest thing they have to a den mother, what with his genuine human empathy that most of them lack. While the rest of their group might try to rush Jordan downstairs to take control of the situation, or ask him (not for the first time,) how things got so bad, Dan is really only concerned for individual wellbeing, Jordan’s and his own. 

Jordan’s grateful, he needs that.

He thinks for a moment to take Dan up on his offer all the same, follow him into the room decorated with Batman and movie memorabilia and lose himself in downy white sheets while Dan heads out into battle.

But then there’s a yip from downstairs, two actually, one human one dog, and Jordan shakes the thought away. If Dan is the den mother, then Jordan is their patriarch, and if there are any grease fires that need to be put out downstairs, he’s the only one who will remember to put on shoes before he stomps it out.

“Thanks, but I got it.” Jordan says, shaking off the last of his tiredness. “They need me down there.”

“Yeah, sounds like they do.” Dan agrees. He returns on the pathway to his room, giving a light wave as he goes. “See you in the trenches, Jordan.”

Jordan gives him a short nod, and makes his way towards the stairs.

//

There are few things in this group’s life that isn’t comparable to some kind of circus. Running their business is a circus, getting groceries in a circus, trying to hammer out who’s going to bed with whom some nights can be a three-ringed catastrophe.

But mealtimes, well, those just take things to a whole other level.

Usually, breakfast isn’t too bad. Even with their definition of chaos, which is admittedly a little more extreme than the usual use of the word, five out of seven days of the week begin with cereal, maybe a meal bar, maybe eggs. That, and minimal disaster.

The same can not be said for weekends.

There are six of them who live en-suite, eight when the out-of-townies need a place and a warm body to sleep on. Out of all of them, none are morning people. (Well, debatably Dan or Aleks, but one wakes up to get more hot water to himself, the other because a dog needs to be let out, not because either or them enjoy it.)

Because of this, and even if the day technically starts around ten thirty am, no one is ever really firing on all cylinders right off the bat.

And this is concerning for two reasons. One, at least once a month someone (Usually Eddie, community-driven as he is,) gets the idea to cook the house breakfast. Get things started off right, wick off hangovers from the night before, all that stuff. But secondly, and as well intentioned as bacon and eggs and pancakes can be, trying to do this while still shrugging off the night before usually doesn’t end well.

See; right now for example. Jordan enters the kitchen expecting the worst, and is met with nothing less.

The reason the smoke alarm has been going strong for at least five minutes now is because a thick gray cloud of burnt oil hangs in the air. The waffle maker, an attempt at a well-thought-out gift from last Christmas, is on its side, dripping thick half-cooked goop on to the counter. Near by it is a precariously placed glass punch bowl that looks to have about ten egg-yolks swimming in their whites. And dancing around the feet of Eddie (who is laughing in terror,) and James (who is yelling and probably in the mood to kill,) are the dogs, whining and chasing where the next splatter of batter or grease will be.

There are still two smoking pans on lit burners and another one that has been abandoned on the marble, and the worst of the worst comes from a bowl that was ostensibly to hold all that pancake batter, now upturned, with most of its contents spread down the cupboards and across the floor. Little dog footprints even track it around the island.

Jordan only stands and surveys this for a moment, taking it all in like a performance art piece. He’s not aware that he’s got company until there’s an amused voice beside him, and a flash of greens and oranges and purples catches his periphery. Fingers run down the length of his arm in greeting and Jordan turns, an eyebrow perked.

“Morning.” Aleks says, lifting a mug of coffee to his lips and sipping slowly. Giving the kitchen a closer look, Jordan finds the coffee machine at the end of the counter in slightly less disarray than everything else, a half pot still brewed, and not even on the verge of spilling. How Aleks got in and out without being sucked into the tornado or misery in front of him, Jordan is not sure.

“Morning.” He replies, albeit distractedly. He’s taking a couple more seconds to think out his next few moves and Aleks reclines into the doorway.

“It’s Chef’s birthday.” The boy explains, nearly monotone as he takes another sip from his mug. As far as Jordan can tell, he is entirely unaffected by the scene in front of him. Even when Aleks lifts his hand again, it’s to snap a picture or two on his phone. “Eddie was gonna make a celebratory breakfast. James got pulled in.”

“...Of course that’s what happened.” Jordan responds, in a way that almost feels defeated. He reaches towards the top of his head and frowns, having no hat to adjust to get himself into go-mode. Left it upstairs, he’ll have to guilt someone to grab it for him later.

While he prepares to intervene Aleks sits back, the smallest of smug smiles on his lips. Jordan could chastise him for enjoying this so much, maybe he will later, but now is not the time. Instead he just punches Aleks on the arm and surveys the situation one last time.

James and Eddie are entirely wrapped up in the happenings going on around them, trying to fix the problem while simultaneously making it worse. They work in synchronized chaos, James trying to dispel the smoke from the alarm, Eddie trying to shoo the dogs away.

Jordan coughs up a lung full of bacon grease and heads in.

His first stop is the sliding glass door that leads to the back porch. The neighbors might worry about the clouds of smoke leaking out of the house, but they’ve long since learned not to ask questions because they’re not going to get an answer they’re prepared for.

With the smoke now having an out, the room clears a little. Similarly, with the smell of fresh air present, Mishka makes a beeline for the back yard, fast as her little keeshond legs will take her. She’s tracking batter on to the porch, yes, but that’s a problem for future Jordan to take care of.

With one dog down, Eddie is able to scoop up Chef in a singular clean motion. She flails and wriggles and gets batter all over Eddie’s clothes, but at least he can carry her away, emptying the room out that much more.

James takes care of the fire alarm (And by take care, this time he just clears the air around it. Not like last time when he cracked it in half with a broom handle,) while Jordan takes on the stove. Angry black oil spits and hisses on the burners but Jordan’s quick, and doesn’t mind the little spatters that nip the underside of his arms.

He shuts off the burners and redirects the oil down the sink drain, watching almost sadly as shriveled husks of what was probably once bacon get caught in the corners. James takes care of the eggs, grabbing the bowl and placing it in the middle of the island where even the most dedicated stray elbow can’t reach to topple it.

And then it’s quiet.

Jordan doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have the words really. While the past minute and a half sinks in, James just gives him a look that is baked in salt. Jordan knows he’s in for a full scale explanation on why James is not mopping this stuff up and how this is bull...crap, but before he can get the words out they’re both distracted by a pair of arms winding themselves around Jordan’s waist.

“Sorry Hordan.” Comes a small voice from a lips currently resting between his shoulder blades. Jordan relaxes into Eddie’s hug, exhaling slowly.

“Are you getting pancake batter all over my back right now?” He asks. There are fresh stains all up and down the arms around his midsection, and Eddie wasn’t gone long enough to change. In response all he gets is a tiny laugh and another nuzzle, which he guesses suffices as an apology.

“Oh god, what happened here?”

That’s Dan’s voice, aptly horrified at the condition of his surroundings. He stands in the threshold of the kitchen and looks like he wants to enter, but is too intimidated to move forward.

“Everything, dude.” Aleks replies. He steps forward boldly into the mess, nimbly avoiding the spattered floor and greasy counter, and deposits his mug in the sink. “Everything.

But it’s over now,” He says, turning around and navigating his way back through. “You missed the show.”

Jordan laughs and Eddie, still wrapped around him, shudders in a giggle. James is trying not to laugh, but failing. He needs that grumpiness to give someone, anyone a good tongue lashing.

“Aw.” Dan says to this, a little disappointed. Then another voice joins the room, this one more dry and less amused.

“Thank God.” Seamus grumbles as he appears behind Dan. It occurs to Jordan then that he had not been the last one up, as the only one with the drive strong enough to try and sleep through this kind of meltdown would be Seamus.

“I hate all of you.” He says, wiping blearily at his eye under his glasses. Eddie’s grip loosens from Jordan’s waist as he goes to greet him, and James perks up as well, another hint of happiness breaking through his displeasure. 

“Hey, Seamus.” James says in a voice way more apologetic than Jordan anticipated. Jordan certainly wouldn’t have gotten that soft tone and bright little smile. Then again, no one’s really worried about getting on Jordan’s bad side, he forgives by the hour. Seamus holds grudges for months, if he’s feeling generous.

“Don’t touch me, you’re gross.” Seamus grumbles as Eddie tries to assimilate him into a hug. He settles for a kiss bouncing off the top of his bedhead before moving in closer. At the same time as this, James pops open the door to the microwave. Inside, and untouched by the rest of the chaos is a little bowl of oatmeal, the kind with eggs that hatch into dinosaur shapes.

“Made you breakfast.” James offers. “You’ve been saying your stomach’s bugging you lately, so.” Seamus eyes him through a bleary squint. He won’t put himself near the mess on the floor so James delivers it to him personally, pulling a grimace at the wet slap his feet make of batter on hardwood.

“Thanks.” Seamus says as it’s handed to him, taking the bowl and dipping a finger in the slurry. “Still warm, nice.”

James deflates, and lightness returns to the room slowly. Seamus pats James on the shoulder with his free hand and turns about-face to go.

“You stayed out of the doghouse this time, lucky.” He says as he heads back towards the stairs. Eddie tries to match his step and Jordan hears him say, “You’re not in the clear though. I said don’t touch me, oh god it’s on my shirt, look what you did.”

Aleks laughs before leaving the room, and Dan carefully backs up, not about to be around for the aftermath.

“Go grab me Eddie, will you James?” Jordan says in a measured tone as he watches the kitchen empty out. James’ expression fades back to displeased as he nods. “Eddie, and the mop?”

//

Saturdays, Jordan thinks sometimes, are the big exhale after a long week of taking one big breath. The weeks starts with a rush into the lungs, anticipation to start off strong, and by the time it’s friday the workweek weighs down on his chest like a cinderblock, tight and heavy. Is everything recorded, rendered, up? Are mid-week meltdowns now cooled, are all scores settled?

Sometimes not everything gets accomplished, but with the end of the week comes the end of anything anyone’s gonna do about it. What’s queued is queued, what’s done is done. Breathe out, slow and heavy.

And little disasters, like waking up to find the kitchen’s gone up in smoke, are at least a lot more interesting when they can become a funny anecdote to share later on a podcast, rather than something currently impeding Jordan’s, James’, and Eddie’s work schedules.

All in all, the post-meltdown cleanup takes little over half an hour, once Eddie concedes to mopping up the floor and James begrudgingly sloshes everything through the sink and into the dishwasher. The dogs luckily escape without needing a bath, (although Jordan would not at all be opposed to watching Eddie and Aleks try to goad an excitable bulldog and a water-averse keeshond into the kiddie pool again,) and by the time Jordan can actually grab a meal-bar from the cabinets, the morning has ticked over to noon.

Breathe on out.

The biggest, the only really, hinderance to the day now is Creature Talk, and that’s hardly a challenge anymore. Around the time anticipatory tweets start trickling in, Jordan will toss out a yell to the general area, usually pulling in two or three willing participants -and James- and they’ll congregate together, talk about nonsense for two hours, then go get something to eat, probably.

Compared to the rest of their free time together, it’s not much different. Maybe things like circling together and talking just come naturally to them now. Maybe the only real difference is that in this particular instance, is that this time they’re being watched.

But that’s still a good few hours away, and he’s still got a lot of Saturday to burn.

On days like these, there’s no real guarantee where anyone will be. Sometimes pairs or trios disappear out the front door without a word of warning, skittering in five minutes before they’ll be chastised for bering late, smelling like a movie theater (If Dan or Aleks is leading the charge,) or maybe the laser tag course (Jordan and Eddie’s favorite, James’ as well until he kept getting his butt kicked and declared the place rigged.) 

Today though all the cars are in the driveway or garage, and it’s just a matter of finding someone to be around.

After the morning’s excitement, Seamus had shown up once again with an empty bowl in hand, and had wordlessly yanked on Aleks’ wrist, pulling him towards the bedrooms. This isn’t anything new, what with Seamus being the one among them with the lowest tolerance level for nonsense. Burned out from the breakfast kerfuffle, he’s made it clear that all he wants is quiet and still a little company.

These ventures, and they happen often enough to be described as such, usually only get offered to Aleks or Dan, who meet Seamus’ strict presence to silence restrictions. Eddie has never made this exclusive club, nor has James. 

Jordan got invited in once, but all it ended up being was sharing Seamus’ mattress on the floor, Seamus taking little breaths and scritching the nape of Jordan’s neck while thumbing through something on his phone. After Jordan’s third attempt at breaking the silence -too loud, too present for him in the midday warmth- Seamus had dropped his phone and served the other boy an icy glare, inviting him out, and instructing him to call Dan in to take his place.

Which had stung a little at the time, but he’d gotten over it quickly enough. He guessed some people just enjoyed completing the setting that Seamus needed, someone warm, close, relaxed, and above all else quiet.

And others, like himself or Eddie or James, were couldn’t handle it and just didn’t fit the bill.

So that was Seamus and Aleks spoken for. Honestly, Jordan probably won’t even bother them if they don’t come down before CT. Yanking Seamus (And Aleks too, who also seemed to enjoy his few daily minutes of peace, lying in Seamus’ bed while he edited or napped,) out of that zone isn’t something he likes to do regularly.

They do this a lot, the splintering off into groups. For as much as they are a cohesive group, and for as much as each member lends their own hand into the great whatever that they are, they’re still people. And spending all of one’s time surrounded by five other bodies gets tiring, and there’s no doubt that if it was all six of them all the time, blood would have been spilled. Probably a lot of it.

Some days it’s Eddie and Seamus who are inseparable. From morning bed to evening bed they spend every moment together, every meal, every car ride, and every argument and burst of laughter inbetween.

Jordan too, will sometimes wave off an offer to spend time with the larger group to instead run off for a quick lunch with Aleks. Each member of their close knit little family gives Jordan his own particular thrill up his spine, and Aleks is no different. Even just a few minutes chatting in a drive-through -or if they’re feeling particularly fancy, sitting accross from each other in a booth,- is like a little breath of fresh air, a quick one-on-one lightening up session.

Other days it’s James and Dan who decide they need some togetherness time. They’ll spark up some conversation over shared bowls of breakfast cereal, something about a new trailer or obscure little factoid, and won’t finish it until they’re sighing the finals words into their respective pillows at night, elbows and hips brushing.

Speaking of Dan, the last time Jordan saw him he was hustling up to his room with a bright fervor in his eyes. Jordan thinks to check up on him momentarily, but he’s sure he’ll hear about whatever new release or obscure actor was cast for some iconic role over dinner anyway. He’d be more than happy to share sooner, but Jordan doesn’t want to get in his way.

That leaves Thing 1 and Thing 2 with free reign of their shared afternoon, and not a spare regret or afterthought between them.

Harbingers of destruction, it’s usually left up to James and Eddie to come up with the worst of the worst ideas (And, to be fair, for Aleks and Jordan himself to agree with bells on,) and that’s what leads to stairs being sled down (and bannisters broken,) to paintballs cracking drywall and leaving bright orange stains to be painted over later, to, well, early breakfasts going up in flames and going down in batter.

//

After the rest of the house disperses, Jordan retires to him room, ruefully, as he’d rather already be out there making plans with the others. But someone has to make sure his videos go up when they’re supposed to, and for a few minutes it’s back to the workweek.

When Jordan finally shuts the lid of his laptop, and he expects to hear some kind of shout. Or maybe an argument, or laughter, of some kind from any corner of the house. Ever bustling, ever busy, there’s always someone making racket somewhere. But he’s only met with silence.

And as any pet owner, toddler parent, or boyfriend of seven can attest to, there’s nothing more conspicuous than a sudden quiet.

Getting up slowly, he listens for any telltale signs of life around him. Most of the second floor seems abandoned (save for Seamus’ locked door,) so he heads down again, already getting flashbacks to the chaos he’d walked in on this morning. What will it be this time? The week they decide to shave the dogs themselves instead of taking them to the groomers? Comically broken $10,00 vase? The possibilities are, terrifyingly, endless.

Instead, as his feet hit the bottom of the landing, all Jordan hears is a soft laugh from the room adjacent, the living room. When he walks in it’s hard not to smile at the sight, maybe even hum a contentment at what he sees.

On the tv is some movie that looks to be about as old as Jordan is, if the effects and quality are anything to go by. Spread out behind it on the couch are Eddie, James and Dan, respectively. Dan’s the only one sitting up, paying any attention to the film. James is leaning heavily into his shoulder, head drooped and on the verge of sleep. Eddie’s sat with his back against the armrest, legs sprawled out across the others’ laps, his hands busy with his phone.

Jordan relaxes. Something inside of him says to be more relieved that he hasn’t walked in on the washing machine burping up foam (again) but the cynicism get drowned out by a funny warmth in his chest instead. Quietly he paces up behind the others, bracing himself on the back of the couch. Eddie and Dan look up, James blinks himself back to conciseness. 

“Hey Jordan.” Dan says, lifting the arm that isn’t trapped between his and James’ thighs up in a wave. Jordan nods back at him. “We decided to be responsible adults today and put off our responsibilities until the last minute.”

“Yeah,” James pipes up, voice husked with sleep, “My car needs to be vacuumed like a motherfucker.”

“And I haven’t edited like, any shit today.” Eddie adds on, not looking up from his phone.

“Well. Well done, all of you.” Jordan says in mock pride. James’ free hand curls into a thumbs up, and Eddie wriggles his feet playfully in acknowledgement. 

“How about you, Jordan?” Dan asks. “You got anything that you could be better spending your time doing?”

Jordan thinks, but not a lot comes to mind immediately. Part of Saturday being that big exhale and all, is the part where what’s done is mostly done. After a second he shrugs and says “CT’s topic list is looking pretty bare this week, I should probably fill that out a little.”

“That’s perfect.” Eddie says with a grin. “Now blow it off.”

James tacks on, “Fuck it, we’ll wing it.”

Now that Jordan’s thinking about it, he should actually go back and get more set up for today, it’s the only responsibility he has. But already James is rolling his head so that it bumps against Jordan’s fingers and Dan is studying the couch, trying to figure out how to fit on a fourth member.

“What do you say, wanna join the lethargy club?” He asks. Jordan dips his head down between his shoulders, it’s a hard offer to turn down.

“Sure.” Jordan says, rounding the corner of the couch. He could squish himself on to the already full one but there’s an armchair nearby, and he chooses to plop down there instead.

As he does so, he watches Eddie check over his shoulder once, twice, before frowning deeply. He drops his phone on to his belly and twists his free arm back, reaching in the direction of the armchair. Still frowning, he waggles his arm a little for emphasis.

Jordan picks up on the hint quickly, extending his longer arm for the rest of the journey. After that, his and Eddies’ fingers twist together playfully. Eddie squeezes and pinches, the most careful tactile little compliments to his skin, but it isn’t long before the awkward angle and arm-ache has them dropping their hands.

All the same Eddie seems stated, and Jordan’s skin is buzzing.

“So what are we watching, boys?” He asks, bringing his legs up to sit cross-legged on the chair.

Dan gives the movie’s name, some obscure 80′s film Jordan’s not remotely heard of, and quiet settles around them.

If Jordan’s being honest though, it’s not the movie that’s got his attention. He’s a lot more entertained watching Dan’s reactions to the cheesy dialogue, as well as how James steadily nods off not ten minutes later, head lolling onto Dan’s shoulder completely. Eddie snaps a picture.

//

“And so I’m like staring at this guy you know, like, are you gonna wash your hands man? This entire place just saw you sneeze, and-”

“Eyyy!” 

“Heyo!”

“Woo!”

Jordan looks up from where his chin had been resting on his palm, blinking the disinterest out of his eyes as Aleks and Eddie bustle in. James halts mid-story, feigning offense at the interruption, though Jordan would guess that he’s at least a little relieved. Jordan had been there with him at the food place, James had gotten a free cookie. Hardly titillating storytelling. Hearing him speak animatedly about it is nice though.

Aleks leads the charge in from the hallway, carefully avoiding the camera until all eyes are on him, at which point he deposits the bounty in his arms on to the two plastic tables where everyone sits. Party hats, poppers, streamers and other dime store party tricks roll out of his arms. Seamus perks an eyebrow, James makes a confused little noise in the back of his throat.

Eddie follows in behind him, a large tray balanced on one hand, a length of leash in the other. He sings as he walks in, the first few notes of the Happy Birthday song. Following in behind him is a much less enthused looking Chef, a little pink tutu around her chubby waist.

“It’s Chef’s birthday!” Eddie announces proudly as he deposits the tray amongst the rest of the party supplies. It’s a store bought cake, done up in fancy icing and covered with a loose plastic lid.

The tone of the room perks up noticeably as everyone picks up on the act. Dan tosses his arms up in a weak celebration, Seamus massages the bridge of his nose.

“This is why you wanted to sit out this week?” Jordan asks. His voice tries to be stern but already both boys are pulling up chairs, Eddie hoisting the dog up on to his lap, and distributing party supplies, and it’s hard to keep a frown.

“To give Baby Girl a surprise party? Hell yeah!” Eddie grins. He grabs two party hats, securing one on top of his beanie before trying to wrestle the other over Chef’s head. Already the dog is trying to eat it.

“Alright then, surprise party it is.” Dan decides a second later. He grabs a hat from the table and secures it over his fave, beak style. Shrugging, Jordan follows suit, plopping the pointy cone over his Cardinals hat. Seamus just glowers at his until Jordan takes initiative, brushing some hair out of his face as he pulls the elastic strap down over his chin.

James just rolls his between his hands.

“How’d you get sucked into this, Aleksandr?” He asks as Aleks squishes himself into the fold. The table is way overcrowded now and the mic to person ratio is a mess, but no one really seems to care. The chat’s going wild, they love it.

“He asked me..?” Aleks answers, then yelps and ducks out of the way as James tries to snap the elastic against his ear. “You fucker!”

It’s chaos from then on out, as James tries to get back on track with his story but Seamus busies himself blowing a party blower into his ear and he can’t concentrate. Then Chef has starts to wriggle on to the table inch by inch, her short snuffly nose very interested in the platter on the center table.

Disaster, their ever present friend, reaches its zenith as the bulldog manages to hoist her little body all the way up, delivering a quick kick to Eddie’s stomach in the process. As Eddie gasps and lets go of her, she zeroes in on the tray and tackles it full force, little stumpy tail waving.

“You couldn’t have- you couldn’t just lock her in your room could you?” James asks, but his voice is fast drowned out by the rising din.

They all grab for the dog, genuine laughter turns either to hysterical or fearful, but Creature Talk decidedly ends as she noses the cake across the table, straight into Aleks’ lap, who yells and recoils further, nearly tipping backwards as frosting and cake and dog all falls on top of him.

James tries to help, grabbing the bulldog. Jordan tries to help, grabbing a fistful of cake. Dan grabs a mic and pulls it up to his face so he can be heard above the shouting. Eddie is almost in tears with laughter, Seamus biting back a grin nearby.

“Thanks for joining in on this week’s Creature Talk,” Dan shouts as he gets up and away from the growing mess. “We’ll see you next week!”

//

“Why is it that no matter what we do, there’s always aftermath?” Jordan asks, watching as Aleks grabs handfuls of cake through flimsy paper towels, tossing them towards the nearest garbage cans. He lands at least good half of them. 

It’s only been minutes since CT was cleared for over, and now he’s sat on top of the counter with the sink running to rinse his hands. He’s surrounded by paper towels and little chunks of vanilla cake, and everything around him is an opaque mess. Again.

“I don’t know Jordan, why don’t you ask the guy who put his dog on the table with a fucking sheetcake?” Aleks snaps, throwing another paper towel. A miss.

The cake remnants that don’t make it into the garbage are chewed up by Chef, now sans-tutu, who circles it like it’s a game. That is, before Eddie or Jordan himself wrestle them out of her maw. They’re perched in front of the garbage can now on either side of her, in case she gets the idea to grab one and run.

“I said I was sorry!” Sly rebuffs. James, who had made it out of the debacle mostly unscathed, huffs a laugh as he moves into the kitchen, probably pleased that he doesn’t have to help in the cleanup this time. 

Noting Aleks’ cross mood, James cheekily draws a thin line across the frosting on Aleks’ abdomen, above where the dog had landed, and then pops his finger into his mouth. Aleks glowers. The younger boy looks like he could strangle him. Probably after he strangles Eddie.

“To be fair,” Dan adds in a moment later, walking into the kitchen with everyone else. He’s got some cake stains on his arm, but nothing too serious. Only Aleks Aleks took the brunt. “The episode was really dead until that happened. You really picked it up at the end there.”

“I didn’t even get to finish my Subway story.” James pouts as he tries to go in for another round of frosting before Aleks swats his hand away. Seamus, coming up behind him, pats him on the back sympathetically. 

“We’ll call it a two-parter, it’ll be great.” He says. Reluctantly, James offers him a nod.

“Fine.”

“Though, Eddie,” Jordan says as the two stand up from next to the trash, “Next time you’re gonna put a dog and food on a table already covered in electrical wires, uh,”

“Don’t.” Seamus finishes. Jordan points to him, appreciating the input.

For a minute there’s only quiet, with the exception of Chef’s ever-labored breathing and the scrape of paper towel against fabric. James and Seamus taper off to wherever, their work teasing Aleks and Eddie apparently done. Jordan fishes a soda out of the fridge, and as an afterthought grabs a couple of box pizzas out of the freezer for dinner as well. There’s still a playful kind of spark hanging in the air, but for the most part all that’s left is the feeling of a day that’s well run its course. Jordan breathes it in, lets it sink into his skin.

“Well I’m gonna go wash the frosting out of my chest hair.” Aleks sighs, breaking the quiet to hop down from the sink. All three of the people still gathered look up to make the obvious joke, but Eddie gets there first.

“What chest hair, you naked baby?” He laughs.

Dan snaps his fingers, Jordan mutters a “Dern it.” Beaten to the punch.

Aleks doesn’t even grace him with a response at first, just walks in front of him and uses a frosting-laden hand to snatch the front of Eddie’s shirt. Eddie blinks, big-eye’d and confused, until Aleks grumbles just loud enough for the room to hear,

“You’re gonna see what chest hair i’m talking about, I’m not washing this shit off myself.”

The sound that follows, that emerges from Eddie’s throat like a shrill chirp, can only be described as purely satisfied glee. Jordan has to wonder, for just a moment, if he’d planned this all along.

//

Jordan’s bed is the place to be tonight.

Unsurprising really, as he’s the only one (so far) who has sprung for the king size, which ups the bodycount from the usual three to four, five if someone’s desperate, six if all of them have a deathwish. (Seven to eight has yet to be attempted.)

Tonight it’s four though, and Jordan is quite pleased with this. (It would have been five, as Seamus had been headed in the same sleepy direction as everyone else. But that was before before Eddie had snagged his arm. “Ah-ah, baby boy.” He’d said. “I didn’t see you at all today, you’re coming with me.” 

And Seamus had readily agreed.)

They’ve tried many times to have bedroom rules, but nothing really seems to work out. (Truthfully they’ve tried to have rules for several things. Very, very few of them manage to stick.)

It just sort of happens that on the more exciting nights, one that involve booze and raucous laughter, James’ bed becomes the hotspot. Cold nights bring out the need for Dan, the human space heater and his downy sheets. Aleks’ bedroom has curtains that keep out the sun in the morning, Eddie’s bed usually has a snoring Chef in the middle. Each one has their benefits, including their usual occupant.

(Seamus’ bed is a mattress on the floor. Hardly even Seamus uses that one, and when he does it’s usually because James’ back is acting up and he’s in need of company.)

But tonight the energy is low and eyelids are drooping. When Jordan leads the charge to his room he’s steadily followed by the others, even Aleks who has chosen bedmates over his distain for the deer antlers that decorate the walls.

Jordan claims the middle spot, his favorite. He does this after he shrugs off his shirt and jeans and lets them begin the pile that Eddie will ruefully have to pick up tomorrow, the others following in his stead.

He settles in, the cool night air hardly getting a chance to make his skin prick before James, their backup space heater, is eliminating any chance for a chill. James’ jerk nature usually doesn’t die down just because he’s on the edge of sleep, Jordan’s more than used to his fair share of cold hands in warm places and too many dutch ovens to count, but tonight the boy seems wrung-out, more interested in sleep than mischief. 

But as Aleks crawls in after him, Jordan realizes he won’t be getting much attention from James at all tonight, at their shoulder blades and spines bump, and James makes room for Aleks’ limbs around his own. Aleks, for as much as he’ll deny it, is a very clingy sleeper. And just falling asleep in the same general vicinity of him guarantees that he’ll wake up in some manor of tangled limbs and warm skin.

James isn’t as cuddly, but he’s soft and comfortable, and he sleeps through Aleks’ twitchiness. They’ve got a good thing worked out between them.

James’ leg arches back for a moment, finding Jordan’s and rubbing up and down it for a second in a small, quiet acknowledgement. I would bear hug you too, but I’m kind of busy right now, you know how it is.

Jordan returns the gesture as best he can, though that mostly just accomplishes kicking both James and Aleks’ feet. He thinks the message gets across. It doesn’t start a kicking war, so it must have.

Dan is the final addition to the squeaking bed frame, and Jordan quickly forgets all about the premium cuddles he’s missing out on to his left because on his right is someone who- somehow- puts up with all his elbowing and sleep-talking through the night, and even seems to enjoy the experience.

They chit-chat for a while, the four of them, as their voices grow heavier and heavier and their limbs go dead. Jordan is just focusing on keeping his breath on pace with James’, as well as gently dragging his thumb over the ridge of Dan’s hair, when from a few rooms down comes an unmistakeable groan of a bedframe, as well as some... other familiar groans.

Behind Jordan, Aleks snorts a laugh. 

“Lucky.” He sighs, half asleep.

“If you’re jealous just go in there.” James rebuffs, just as tired. “They won’t care.”

“What?” Aleks hisses, “No. I’m so comfortable dude. You couldn’t pay me to move.”

Jordan thinks James laughs at this, but it could just be the sound he makes when he slips from consciousness.

As the day comes to a close and the warm bodies around him twitch and stutter into rest, Jordan finds himself agreeing very much with Aleks. Right now like this, not just in bed but in every chaotic, disastrous, ridiculously fun aspect of his life, he couldn’t imagine changing a thing.

Waking up alone these days is so uncomfortable, because falling asleep like this is the best thing he has.


End file.
